The
term “conspiracy theory,” with the image it invokes
of a cabal of black-hearted men who convene on a regular basis
to consolidate their power, reduces alternate history to a
cartoon. By using it to discredit, however, journalists only
reveal how inadequate their inability to untangle webs the
powerful weave makes them feel.

One who’s
undaunted by the degree of difficulty is Sander Hicks, who
endeavors to shed new light on events leading up to 9/11 mostly
through meetings with, if not remarkable men, remarkable maniacs.
In fact, his book, The Big Wedding, named after Al Qaeda code
for 9/11, could just as easily be called “My Adventures
Covering the Terror Beat.”

The first
portrait in his rogues gallery is Randy Glass, an informant
for an ATF/FBI terrorist sting. Pre-9/11, he dined out in
Manhattan with a Pakistani arms dealer, who, gesturing toward
the World Trade Center, exclaimed, “Those towers are
coming down.”

A State
Department official told Glass they were aware of bin Laden’s
plans. But to keep Pakistani President Musharraf and his nuclear
arsenal in their corner, they were banking on his guarantee
that he could stop the attack. After all, as Hicks maintains,
where Al Qaeda ends, Pakistan’s ISI (Inter-Services
Intelligence) begins.

Then Hicks
introduces us to the legendary Delmart Vreeland. While imprisoned
in Canada in 2001, this near-schizoid former agent for the
Office of Naval Intelligence prophesized 9/11, of which he
allegedly learned while on a mission to Moscow. To some, Hicks’s
encounter with the dodgy Vreeland might undermine the credibility
he’s working hard to establish. But credit is due him
for daring to assert that intelligence work attracts the erratic.
Discounting their testimony only plays into intelligence agency’s
hands.

Hicks
ranges beyond the rogues gallery to the psycho ward, where,
by all rights, Mohammed Atta should have been, instead of
hanging out in Florida. Journalist Daniel Hopsicker followed
Atta’s trail for his book, Welcome to Terrorland, and
Hicks follows in his footsteps.

Atta,
however, got more than he bargained for when he tried on a
spirited American girl for size. Amanda Keller denigrated
the size of his penis, thus prompting Internet speculation
on whether or not that was the tipping point of all tipping
points, driving Atta to his apocalyptic aerobatics.

Having
dealt with rogues and psychos, Hicks moves up in class--or
maybe just parallel--to government officials. After 9/11,
Congress established the September 11 Victim Compensation
Fund and appointed Kenneth Feinberg its special master. One
of the few who opted out of the fund was 9/11 widow Ellen
Mariani, who, instead, sued the entire administration.

For a
story on her, Hicks conducted an interview with Feinberg that
turned ugly. Perhaps, he thinks, there might be some truth
to Mariani’s claim that Feinberg’s role was “to
ensure all 9/11 families joined the fund to prevent any questions
of. . . negligence on the part of [the] administration.”

His appetite
for big game whetted, Hicks also goes after Richard Ben-Veniste,
chairman of the 9/11 Commission. In a flagrant example of
what-was-he-thinking, Ben-Veniste agreed to be interviewed
by Hicks on INN World Report on Free Speech TV. Ultimately,
he wound up dismissing Hicks as a “whackjob.”

After
then taking on Homeland Security Director Michael Chertoff,
he dissects the 9/11 Commission report. First he skewers each
member of the panel, and then he details how the Commission
either gave short shrift to 9/11’s central questions
or outright lied. For instance, the mujahadeens in Afghanistan
“received little or no assistance from the United States.”

Regarding
one of the central questions of 9/11--how the terrorists knew
to strike on the morning that NORAD, NEADS, and the Joint
Chiefs of Staff were preoccupied with three different air
defense drills--the Commission mentions only one of these
exercises as an afterthought. “The 9/11 Commission Report,”
Hicks concludes, “has topped the Warren Report. . .
as the greatest cover-up of all time.”

As The
Big Wedding nears its conclusion, Hicks shares his feelings
about the 9/11 Truth Movement. Its tendency to become bogged
down on issues like what struck the Pentagon explains how
“the term ‘conspiracy theories’ came to
be shorthand for ‘discredited whacko’ in the invisible
guidebook of mainstream media.”

Meanwhile,
he maintains, the idea that “terrorists with box cutters
were able to defeat a $400 billion-a-year war machine”
is as “kooky” a theory as any. Ending on a hopeful
note, however, he calls for a whistle-blower’s conference.

In The
Big Wedding Sander Hicks has not only told some rollicking
tales, but gone a long way to sorting out 9/11 alternate history.
If more clear-eyed reporters like him pitched in, independent
investigations into 9/11 would no longer be tarred with the
conspiracy theory brush.